


A Night at the Opera

by beeeinyourbonnet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fuck Or Die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Raphael bite off more than they can chew when they try to break up a human trafficking ring on their way to the opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marchionessofblackadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A World Full of Obvious Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/839020) by [beeeinyourbonnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeeinyourbonnet/pseuds/beeeinyourbonnet). 



> Finally, what you've all been waiting for (and not a Rick Astley video). Ily all. 
> 
> Also, should note that this is a remix, and is definitely not canon in the AWFOOT verse :D

Belle could not pinpoint the exact moment that everything had gone wrong. There were several things they could and should have done differently—like studied the layout of the building at least once, worn disguises, not gone on their way to the opera, brought weapons—but it didn’t matter now. There was nothing they could do to get out of their concrete prison, not until Raphael’s ankle was feeling better, at least, so there was no point in getting worked up. They’d need their strength.

The cell had no furnishings, which led Belle to believe they were either going to be killed in it, or escorted out of it for necessities. Any other option was too gruesome to think about.

“This was not where I expected to be when we came to New York,” Belle said, shifting to try and get more comfortable on the cinderblock wall.

“There go our tickets. Wasted.” Raphael shook his head.

“I guess that’s what we get for trying to destroy an international sex ring on our way to the opera.”

“I can’t believe we ended up in jail.”

“We’re not even in jail. We’re just captive. And no phone service, I checked.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t check you for a phone.” Raphael sunk down further against the wall. They’d confiscated his the second they’d seen it poking out of his jacket pocket.

“Maybe they figured, since my clutch was too small, I didn’t bring it at all.”

“You’d think they’d have checked your bra, though.”

“Maybe they were too dazzled by my outfit.” She gestured to her evening gown, wasted in this barely-lit space.

“Or maybe they just didn’t think anything could fit in there.”

She shrugged, tucking her phone deeper between her breasts. It wouldn’t do for anyone to walk in and see it. Then they’d never have a chance to get service.

“You do look beautiful, by the way.” He cleared his throat, like the words had just been caught there and he needed to remove the last traces. When Belle glanced at him, he was looking down with his jaw clenched.

“Thank you. You look nice, t—” She jumped at the crashing sound of someone flinging a door open, and then several men in white dress shirts and blazers stormed in, looking like frat boys at a football game.

“Ugh,” Raphael said, lifting his head to give the men the look he gave to people of no use. They all crowded around the cell, outlines of guns visible against their jackets.

One of the men said something in a language Belle could identify as Slavic, but couldn’t translate, and the rest of them laughed. She glared, assuming it was something negative, but when Raphael responded in kind, she nearly choked.

“It’s Russian,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I speak it, as you know.”

There was more jeering, and then one of the men stepped closer to the bars, curling his fingers around them. He spoke directly to Raphael, who spoke in what Belle could only assume was perfect Russian in return. Raphael looked over every few seconds, and continued shaking his head, until he finally scoffed and turned to Belle.

“They’d like to know if you can sing.”

Belle blinked, but when she looked at the men to confirm this, all they did was stare expectantly at her. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion?” She shrugged.

“If you can sing, they’d like to hear something, and if they like it, they will escort both of us to the facilities, which is something I would very much appreciate,” Raphael said, glaring at the men.

“Um—yeah, okay, fine.”

It wasn’t like she had a soulful singing voice or anything, but she knew it to be sweet enough, and she had enough songs in her heart from the show they did manage to see that she could drum up a few verses for a free bathroom pass.

They were escorted by the whole group, and Belle kept tight rein on her chest muscles so that her cell phone wouldn’t fall out. She managed to convince them to let her into a stall by herself, and when she checked her phone in there, she still didn’t have service. Necessities taken care of, they were escorted back to their cell and left alone again.

“How long do you think this will last?” Belle asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She wasn’t too worried—they’d been in stranger situations before.

“Hopefully not long. I’d imagine the leader will come out, we can talk some sense into him, and then escape with our lives by the skin of our teeth, as usual.”

“We need a gun.”

“Certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

The wall etched patterns into Belle’s back, and after fifteen minutes of sitting in silence, Raphael leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket.

“Here. You look cold.”

The thrill of the chase was starting to wear off, and Belle was getting bored of the cell. She wouldn’t let herself feel anything else about it. Raphael’s jacket was warm and comfy enough to distract her, and he eventually coaxed her to lie down on his lap.

She didn’t sleep well, of course, but she did drift off, and when she woke it was because Raphael’s hands were gentling her awake. He guided her into a sitting position, but kept his arm tucked around her, even after she’d blinked away the sleep and straightened up.

“Are we leaving?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, no.” He curled a hand around her arm, jacket clenched between his fingers. “They wish to speak with us.”

Belle blinked toward the cell bars and jumped when she saw half a dozen men staring at them. She swallowed. “What for? Do any of them speak English?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask them?”

Belle watched the men, and next to her, Raphael had on his bland interrogation expression.

“Do any of you speak English?” she asked. She was met with blank stares and a few head shakes of people who recognized that standard phrase. Too many people knew it.

“Might I trouble you for a glass of water?” she tried, throwing together as many strange phrases as she could.

Everyone was silent. Raphael stared around at them, then leaned over, lips against her ear. “The one in the back speaks English.”

Belle was about to respond, but the men did not seem to like Raphael’s whispering, and soon they were rattling the bars, guns hanging from their thick fingers like they were just playthings. The hissed in harsh Russian, and Raphael hissed back. She tried to pick out words, but everything was spoken too fast that she couldn’t pick out anything but _nyet_.

Until Raphael’s arm tightened around her like a boa constrictor. “No,” he said, fingertips digging into her exposed upper arm. “No, I refuse.”

“English,” she reminded him in a whisper, voice wobbling. Raphael never lost his cool.

He repeated himself in Russian, snarling like a wolf that wasn’t sure whether to strike or wait. Soon, he would stand and walk to the bars, rattling them in an attempt to unnerve their captors. She wanted him to keep his arm around her, but she also wanted the comfort of having him between her and the men.

The men were laughing, but they stopped as though they’d been muted. One of the bigger ones cocked his gun, pointing it through the bars at Belle. He looked ready to pull the trigger, and Belle swallowed.

“Please, wait, I’m sure we can—”

“Don’t speak,” Raphael said. “Please, just—don’t speak.”

Under normal circumstances, she would have balked—but under normal circumstances, the second a gun was on her, Raphael would have been in front of her, so she did as she was told, and kept quiet.

The man with the gun laughed, resting it on his shoulder so that it pointed toward the ceiling. His gaze raked over Belle like he could see beneath her dress, and Raphael shifted like he could block all of her with just his shoulder.

He said something that was met by laughter on the other side of the bars, and gestured around to himself and the other men.

“What?” Raphael reached around Belle to grasp her hand. “No. Please—you—” He lapsed into Russian, and Belle could only assume that he was repeating himself, since there were a few _nyet_ s in there.

Seconds later, several guns were pointed at them, and one man raised a key. Belle swallowed, lips dry.

“Are they letting us out?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer.

Raphael was quiet as he shifted around to face her, blocking her from view. His face moved like he was making continuous an efforts to drag on the mask of indifference over his anguish, but he failed each time. Belle had never seen him like this. She cupped his cheek, heart dropping as he closed his eyes and pressed into her palm.

“I’m so sorry, Belle,” he whispered. “I tried to protect you.”

“I know. It’s okay. Are they going to try to execute us? We’ll get out. Don’t worry.”

He shook his head. “I wish that were the case.”

Belle felt cold despite Raphael’s heavy jacket, and she wished he would wrap his arms around her again. The men were leering, rattling the bars with growling cat-calls and gestures, and she had an inkling about what they wanted.

“Raphael, what’s going on?” she asked, cupping his other cheek.

“They want us—” He sighed, and when he opened his eyes, she could see him warring with himself to look harsh and unforgiving. He just looked like his world was crumbling around him.

“What?”

“Well, they’ve given me an ultimatum. I tried to make it so that you would have a say—I tried to pick death—but they raised the stakes.”

“What’s the other option? Do they want us to sing again? Because, I mean, I can, but I don’t know how happy they’ll be the longer my voice goes on.”

That got a tiny chuckle out of him, and she smiled in return. Of course they didn’t want her to sing—this was a sex trafficking ring.

“Raphael, tell me.”

“They want us to—” He paused, as though something was caught in his throat, then gestured between them.

“What?” She couldn’t name the feeling rising in her chest—it wasn’t as bad as it should have been, so she chose to ignore it.

“You know.”

“Use our naughty bits together?”

He wheezed out a laugh, but his hands were shaking. “This is serious, Belle.”

“I know, but I wanted you to laugh. Anyway,” she said, lowering her voice and bringing her lips to Raphael’s ear, just in case the sole English speaker was listening. “We’ve faked it before.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid, Belle, and I’m sorry—I wanted you to be able to make your own choice, but I can’t, Belle, I can’t.”

“Well, what have they raised the stakes to?” she asked. If it was death, they could surely wiggle their way out of it—unless, of course, they planned to execute them in the cell. That might pose a problem.

Raphael brought a hand up to rest over hers, and closed his eyes again. “Instead of us fucking or dying, it’s either I—with you and they watch, or they—” He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut even further like he was trying to disappear. “—They do, and I have to watch. I can’t watch that, Belle, I can’t, please. Please don’t ask me to do that.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged. “Please.”

“Of course not,” she said, words tumbling out before she could really grasp what it was he’d said. “I would never, ever choose someone else over you, even if it’s too dangerous to fake it.”

“Oh God, Belle.” He kissed her then, and it was like he’d been holding that kiss in forever and it had just escaped. Belle felt a little bit like crying, but she wasn’t sad or upset. Of course, it wasn’t ideal that they were kissing in front of voyeurs who wanted to kill them for infiltrating their illegal operation, but Raphael’s lips on hers without pretense of a disguise was like tasting the perfect drink after a lifetime of poorly-shaken martinis.

She had to gentle his face away, though, because there were still some things they needed to talk about—the men may have been banging their guns against the bars, but Belle was not the sort of person to not talk when things needed to be said.

“Raphael, I should—”

“I won’t tell Clive,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbing in his sweaty throat. “I know that—that I have never been supportive of your relationship, and that I have taken most possible opportunities to ruin it, but my lips are sealed. This—we can forget this once we have our lives.”

“No.” She shook her head, grip on his face tightening. “No, we can’t forget this, and I don’t want to.”

“What?”

“I was trying to tell you—I left Clive. Last week.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, then squinted at her nose. “You’re not lying. Why aren’t you lying? I would have noticed if you’d left Clive.”

“Well, we were so busy planning this trip, I just kind of—forgot.” She shrugged, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. “And—and that’s why I left him. I realized that, even if he and I were taking this exact same trip, and doing the exact same things, I’d rather be here with you. You make me forget about Clive, and that’s not fair to him.”

“I make—” He swallowed, his whole body shaking like he was out in a snowstorm. “Oh, Belle—sweetheart—”

She cut him off with a kiss, wrapping her hands around the back of his head and neck. It didn’t matter that they were being watched and jeered at—it just mattered that they were together. Raphael pulled her into his lap, resting his hands on her hips underneath his jacket, and they kissed until he groaned in pain.

“Your ankle?” she asked.

“Yeah. Hang on, let me—” He shifted around, wincing until he was backed against the wall, legs spread out. “Come here.”

She crawled into his lap, prepared to curl up and just let him hold her, but the shouts and clatters from behind them reminded her that this wasn’t just a pleasurable jaunt in a jail cell. Swallowing her nerves, she straddled his lap, playing with the tips of his hair.

“This isn’t ideal.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t go to the opera.”

“It’s okay. We’ve never been captured by human traffickers before. I’m going to log this day in my blog.”

“That doesn’t seem particularly wise.”

“Well, if we make it out alive, I assume that we’ll also be successful in dispensing justice.”

He shook his head, smiling at her with wonder. “You’ll tell them I fought for your honor tooth and nail, won’t you?”

“No, I’ll tell them I fought for your honor, but then at the final minute, you came in with your cane blazing.”

There was a clatter from behind, and then shouts in Russian and the sound of several guns being cocked. Belle swallowed, lowering her head toward Raphael’s.

“Well, I’d guess we’d better get this show started,” he said, bringing one hand up to hold her neck as he touched his lips to hers. It was a much softer kiss than before, but it left her burning, aching for his hands to be on her back and thighs and calves. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and she felt it through her whole body.

“Obviously,” he breathed, kissing his way down her neck, “I do not have a condom. Presumably, you don’t either.”

“No, but I’ve got an implant.”

“That’ll do.”

He ran his hands up her back, fingers pressed against the skin bared by her dress, and she sighed into his hair, tugging on it in reciprocation. Perhaps their captors liked to watch kissing, too, because they were uninterrupted for several minutes, just rocking against one another and enjoying the feeling of a real kiss instead of a staged one.

When they beat against the bars again, Raphael brought one hand out to cup Belle’s breast, and she half-squeaked in surprise.

“You have no idea how satisfying this is,” he said, squeezing, and she let out a breathless laugh.

“I have some idea, actually.”

There were more bangs and shouts, and Raphael growled out a sigh. “How can I put on a good show if they won’t let me?”

“Do you think they’ll make me take my dress off?” she asked, lowering her voice.

The look on his face was not reassuring, but she had to hope that he would find a creative way to get around exposing her. She kissed him once more, and then he was shifting her around.

“Lie down.”

The stone floor was hard and cold, even where she’d already been sitting, but Raphael balled up his jacket so that she could at least have a pillow, and it wasn’t as bad as it could have been that way. She thought he might have blanketed her with his own body, but instead he sat at her feet, bad leg stretched out to the side.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Something I’ve wanted to do every time you’ve worn an evening gown.” With shaking hands, he lifted her ankle to his shoulder, scooting forward so that she wasn’t holding her leg up.

“I haven’t worn evening gowns very often.”

“Often enough.”

He wrapped his hand around her ankle, letting the hem of the dress drape over his wrist and making her feel like threads of electricity were running up her leg, centering in her belly and spreading out until they warmed her cheeks and neck and ears. Slowly, like his hand was reaching for something skittish, he slid his fingers up her calf, trailing heat wherever they touched. The dress followed, peeling off of her right leg, but keeping her modestly covered on the left. Before she could think praises of his cleverness, his lips were on the inside of her left knee, and all of her thoughts jumbled.

“You’re beautiful,” he hissed into the quickly-warming skin of her thigh.

“Th-thank you.” Her whole body felt like it was covered in his lips, and the gratitude felt like an inadequate response, but she could come up with nothing else as he scraped his teeth over the juncture where her thigh met her pelvis.

The jeering coming from the walls faded into the background, and by the time Raphael’s breath ghosted over her panties, all she could hear was the low hum of her blood pounding in her ears. He rubbed her with the tip of his nose, the hand not holding her dress in position coming up to tug at her panties.

With half-hearted enthusiasm, she reached for his hair so that she’d have something to grip, but his head was now beneath her gown as he nipped and nosed at her without the barrier of silk. She pressed her palms into the floor, fingers scraping against the rough concrete. At some point, she wanted to reciprocate, but for now, she was more than content to close her eyes and ignore the half-angry jeering coming from the cell walls.

“Is it okay to say that I’m in love with you?” Raphael whispered into her abdomen, but by the time Belle deciphered the words and was ready to answer, he’d slipped his tongue between her wet folds, and she could no more have come up with a response than broken down the jail cell.

She let out a heartfelt moan, and the cheers that this received from the onlookers was a comfort—even without full view, they were still putting on an acceptable show. She moaned as he licked, rocking her hips up to meet his tongue and trying to press closer to him because it wasn’t enough, and her body craved more, more, more of him.

The tip of his tongue ghosted over her clit, and her body jerked, surprised at the bold move. From there, all he had to do was wiggle a finger into her, and Belle was no longer moaning for show because all she could do was making tiny, broken noises of pleasure, until his lips closed around her clit and his finger slid in and out of her while he sucked until she came with a scream and clenched thighs.

He stroked her thighs while her body twitched with aftershock, and she was too languid to indicate that she’d prefer he come up to hold her through it.

There was a slight clatter above them, and all of the guards looked up, but Belle couldn’t be too concerned. Once she recovered, she’d be able to take on anything that came at them, probably.

“They seem distracted,” Raphael murmured, bringing his head out from under her dress.

“You seem distracted.” She ran her nails along his hair, glad to be able to touch him. Behind them, it sounded like the guards were rubbing bricks together.

“I am, a little—”

There was a crack like thunder, and then most of the roof was gone. Before Belle could react, Raphael had thrown himself over her, shielding her body with his. Her arms went around his head in instinct, and they curled up like they had plenty of times before as tremors ran through the stones, the walls, their bones.

It felt like it lasted a lifetime, but it was probably a minute, at most. They let the silence stretch another lifetime before Raphael lifted his head, and Belle lifted her arms. It was as if someone had perfectly planned a cave-in to save their lives, leaving their cell—which was apparently on the top floor—unscathed, save for a chunk left out of the corner roof. The rest of the room was not so lucky, and a few arms and legs twitched out of the pile of rubble to which it had been reduced.

“What—” Belle clamped her mouth shut against the sick rising in her throat.

“We got lucky, that’s what,” Raphael said, looking around as though they were in a lab, and he was studying the results of a controlled experiment.

“Did we?”

“Oh yes. I imagine that, with half the ceiling gone, we’ll get phone reception.”

Her fingers were numb as she fumbled around in her minimal cleavage for her phone. The city may have noticed the explosion, but they were likely to miss the existence of two opera-goers locked at the very top.

The scene was still quiet when she hung up with NYPD, who claimed to be almost there.

“Well, the police is aware that we’re here,” she said, setting her phone next to her. “But I think we’ve got plenty of time.”

“Whatever shall we do?” Raphael murmured, inching along the floor toward her with his bad leg stretched out to the side.

“We’ll think of something.”

“I think the building is stable enough for almost any activity,” he said, brushing her cheek with his dry fingers.

“How convenient for us.” Burying her fingers in his hair—an activity she was sure she’d never tire of—she leaned over to kiss him.

The sound of a helicopter broke them apart about half a minute later, and they looked up with creased foreheads and drawn brows.

“It’s unlike the rescue squad to arrive in such a timely manner,” Raphael said, squinting up at the plane obscuring the moon. “We should get in trouble in New York more often.”

“I don’t think that’s the police,” Belle said, frowning. The helicopter was as black as the surrounding night sky, and unmarked.

“We should probably hide,” Raphael said, but neither of them moved, too languid to be concerned about a threat that hadn’t even landed yet.

They watched the helicopter hover closer, until a door open and a man appeared. From what Belle could see, he had a small head and a big jacket, giving him the appearance of a dark turtle.

“Definitely not a rescue,” she said.

“Can you see what he’s doing?” Raphael asked, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper.

Belle squinted. “Looks like he’s surveying the damage. Maybe—oh.” She pressed her lips shut when her eyes met the turtle-man’s, praying that he somehow couldn’t see her.

Then, he gave them a military salute, and closed the helicopter door. Eyes wide, Belle and Raphael looked at each other, glancing up only when the sounds of the propellers disappeared.

“Perhaps he was our rescuer,” Raphael said, turning to eye the rubble.

Belle shrugged. “I guess he could be. He did interrupt us, though.”

“Ah, yes. Where were we?”

She wrapped a hand around his tie and tugged him toward her. “Right here,” she said, before planting her lips on his.


End file.
